I’ve always had a love affair with dandelions.  After brutal Midwest winters, seeing those first buds of yellow poke through the earth gave me hope. They represented the oncoming of warmer, longer days when I could play outside from the first hint of a sunbeam until well-past the arrival of dusk’s lightning bugs. I interlaced bracelets and proudly displayed rings knotted from split stems. I wore golden-bloomed crowns atop my messy tresses, tucked wilting flowers behind my ear and used rich yellow stains in driveway art. As they moved to their twilight stage their value increased all the more as they offered wishes in exchange for one swift breath.

I wasn’t alone in my affection for dandelions. My grandmother extolled their virtues and encouraged me to revel in their beauty. She appreciated the vibrant speckles and had no interest in doing away with this gift from nature. In later years, after moving from her farm, a neighbor once came over to assist in removing a patch of dandelions he’d seen at the edge of her yard. As the story goes, she gave him an earful, ensuring he wouldn’t make such a novice mistake again.

It was from Grandma that I first learned this yellow gem was edible. Granted, it was mostly from stories of her famed — and strong — dandelion wine, but, nonetheless, I was prompted to view them as something to ingest. I researched, and came to learn of their magnificent detoxification and antioxidant properties along with uses in teas, salads, sauces and much more. As a source for numerous vitamins and minerals and with a strong healing effect on the body, dandelions — a ridiculously abundant and easy-to-grow resource — embodies the concept of “food as medicine.”

Soon after I moved to Colorado, I received a carefully wrapped envelope from Grandma. Worried that high altitude might affect my easy access to dandelions, she’d collected seeds from her yard so I could grow my own.  It didn’t end up being an issue, but that envelope is still tucked safely in a drawer, with the contents waiting to be spread throughout a future yard. And when I watch my kids string flowers into crowns and create driveway art on summer afternoons while I pick a bowlful for the evening’s dinner, I’ll thank Grandma for helping plant the seed.